


More Data Points Needed.

by RaspberryBrain



Series: Never Crush on a Luthor [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out anxiety, Discussions of sex, Discussions of sexuality, M/M, Mutual Crushes, self identified queer, virgin whore dichotomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaspberryBrain/pseuds/RaspberryBrain
Summary: Tim Luthor spends an afternoon trying to figure out what Conner Kent keeps blushing about.





	More Data Points Needed.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tim Luthor: An Oral Not!Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/331908) by [bessyboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessyboo/pseuds/bessyboo), [moonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonling/pseuds/moonling). 
  * Inspired by [Pilot: Pendulum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294565) by [Vodka112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vodka112/pseuds/Vodka112). 



> At some point, I have Tim complain about a comma splice. Little does he know that he is in a work almost completely compiled of recalcitrant comma splices! Bwahahaha!
> 
> Do I have to rate this M for the F-bomb? It’s not really an M story.
> 
> Possible triggers for past sexual coercion. This fic itself is really tame though. Like, I don’t think anyone actually touches in this fic. You know what? Crowdsourcing. Tell me if you think this needs warnings at all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> A note from the future: I have now gained enough distance from this to tell that it reaaaaaally needs some editing. However, I don't have enough distance yet to know the exact way it should be edited. I just felt the need to acknowledge that real quick. Thanks for indulging me >.<

Tim stares at the boy seated next to him, one hand propping up his chin like Rodin’s _Thinker_ (had the _Thinker_ been a flannel-wearing teenager at a library desk). Superboy – _Conner –_ had immediately stiffened under his gaze, getting twitchier and twitchier by the second until

the quiet became too much, “ _What_?” There. That was enough. “I’m trying to figure out if it’ll be more efficient to teach you the solution or to teach you how to cheat it.” Conner sputters like he's not sure whether to be indignant or not. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. That means so much coming from my tutor.” Tim rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “My lack of confidence isn’t in you, it’s in the system. I’m not in algebra, but I have Ms. di Angelo for calc and she just expects everyone to _memorize_ steps. And calc is one of the interesting ones. It’s such a fucking waste.” 

  


Conner’s face had gone through a lot of emotional changes in the past minute: annoyed at Tim’s apparent calculus humble brag, to incredulous over ‘interesting calc’, and settling on a sort of defensive confusion. “What do you expect people to do, just like, imagine the math or something? I mean, what happens to learning times tables if you can’t memorize them?” Tim’s lip twists in distaste. “Times tables aren’t something you _learn_. Multiplication is something you _do._ The table isn’t a law unto itself, it’s just charting out some of the basic stuff of life. That’s what all of mathematics is. It’s how humans read all the complexities of the universe, and these assholes make it boring.” Tim sighs heavily and lets his head loll over the back of the chair, eyes closed like the speech had left him without energy. He let his pupil absorb that for a minute. Let him think about what it meant that the cold calculated Luthor got passionate over something, something that neither Conner Kent nor Superboy had value for or even interest in. 

  


“I like Ms. di Angelo.” Conner muttered. Tim grunted, not moving. “Come on man, she’s a really good person.”

“Alright then. Times tables and memorized steps it is.” 

“Just cause someone’s tough on you doesn’t make them your enemy, you know.” 

“Just because someone’s a good person doesn’t mean they know what they’re doing.”

  


They sit in silence for a minute, Conner glaring at Tim, Tim enjoying pretending not to notice. The bigger boy had started fidgeting again and Tim could feel the pressure in the floor shifting with him, eyes closed or not. It could be a weak spot in the floor, even Lex’s penthouse had those. It could also be an unconscious extension of that telekinetic type ability Superboy used (much less frequently than Tim would in his place) “So,” Conner’s patience had apparently been tested to its limits today, “You love math so much that you’d rather I cheat on it than memorize it. Am I getting that right?” Tim stays where he is, keeping up the look of exhaustion he would usually try to hide “I want you to do better stuff with your time… and memorizing _is_ cheating. It’s just the cheating that the system is designed to accommodate.” Another pause. Tim’s head lolls back to gaze with impotent frustration at the worksheets he’s supposed to be helping Conner with. The clock ticks and someone across the library laughs loudly only to be shushed. “God I need caffeine.” He snaps his head up to look at the other boy intently. “Wanna sneak over to QT with me? Clock’s almost up anyway.” Conner blinks in surprise and suddenly… blushes. Where the hell had that come from? “Whatever” is Conner’s ringing endorsement of the plan. 

  


“Kay.” Without further ado, Tim stands and sweeps the papers, pencils, and single unused calculator into his bag. “Hey!” Conner had flinched back from the table, hands up like Tim’s table cleaning method was a new and terrifying danger. “Half of that was mine, you know!” Tim swings the bag over his shoulder with a completely straight face and said “You want the worksheets back unharmed? Follow through with your part of the deal. Caffeine. By sixteen-hundred hours today.” Conner stares at him. It looks like he’s trying very hard to understand why the world had turned upside down. This would have been a good place for the idiom about pigs and their aerial capabilities but after Tim had visited one of Lex’s genetics labs doing animal tests, the phrase had lost its impact.

  


Tim weaves through the bookshelves, Conner following somewhat awkwardly considering that he actually had super-speed and should probably be able to adjust for turns his human companion makes. “Um, where are we going?” 

“Library has three doors. Hope is waiting at the main one.” She was, just for appearances. All the Luthor guards knew Tim would activate his distress beacon if any detour from the usual wasn’t working in favor of his plan. Conner did not seem happy about this, something he and Lex might actually agree on. “Okay, so, I sort of get why having people around watching you all the time would sort of suck, but don’t you have bodyguards for a reason?” Tim looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “If we get Hope before we even leave school grounds, it doesn’t count as ‘sneaking’ anywhere, does it?” 

“… No?” 

“Anyway, Lex is getting really judgey about my junk food intake and she will _not_ be keeping secrets for me.” Conner stops, dumbfounded. “Luthor… is counting your calories?” 

  


“No.” Tim scoffs. He backs up to the Library back exit so that he can peek out the tiny security window without being in full view himself. “It’s not like he’s my dad or anything. He just knows how to be really irritating when he disapproves. Hey, check around this corner for me.” Conner does. “No Hope, or uh… our escape plan has hope?” He grins at the irritated look Tim gives him before continuing down the hall. “What do you mean he’s not your dad? Didn’t he like, adopt you or something?” 

“Clark’s not _your_ dad.”

“Nooo. That would be weird.” Tim nods “That’s what I mean. You live with him and he signs all your permission slips and stuff, but that doesn’t mean your dad isn’t still your dad. You can _care_ about Clark without deleting a whole other person from your life.” Tim adds an iota of tightness to his voice and immediately feels guilty, wishing he’d gone for the callously casual angle instead. “Lex’s my legal guardian, but it’s more like a roommate situation than anything. We were friends before my parents got hurt.” A smile tugs his face out of neutral and he can tell Conner’s a bit weirded out by the contrast to his words. “The social worker that had my case was so confused when he ended up talking to Lex Luthor. The awkwardness in the air was priceless. Lex wasn’t taking it too well either though.” The teenager’s voice morphs to an eerily accurate impression of the much bigger man, “Tim, I’m not qualified for this! My poor little super genius brain can’t handle the idea that someone actually likes me!’” His smile fades as he returns to his real voice. “He’s a giant idiot for someone so smart.”

“Oh… kay… then.” 

  


Neither of them speaks until they get to the school’s side doors. Tim is more in his own world than he’d like to admit, but he’s fairly sure Conner hasn’t noticed as his face is still scrunched up in thought. “One last Hope check.” Tim shoulders the push bar and the bigger boy steps in close to him to scope out the parking lot. He nods, looks down at Tim and blushes. Again. What the hell? Tim squeezes out between the door and Conner, his bag taking up more space than usual with the hostage worksheets and notebooks added to his own supplies.

  


The _Quick Trip_ gas station in question is a block away on the corner. Sometimes a particular cashier would call the school if he thought a student was skipping. Millennials thinking they could break the rules really pissed him off, which he made sure to tell everyone who entered. Tim and Conner _were_ currently skipping, but the display on the clock having clicked to 3:45 pm, he had no reason to suspect that. They pass him and his line of customers without incident.

  


Tim puts on a face of intense concentration, eyes flicking from the wall of coffee dispensers of different flavors to the adjacent wall of refrigerators containing energy drinks and pop cans. Conner is watching him trying not to smile, which is 90% of the exercise’s purpose, as far as Tim’s concerned. He grabs a bag of donut holes, probably not one meant to be a single serving, and redoes his dramatic beverage calculation. He faints toward the coffee, but turns at the last second to get a _ZestiEnergy_. Conner snorts. Tim raises an eyebrow, “What?” The other boy shakes his head, the grin on his face unrestrained now, and grabs a _Soder_ and a single serving pizza with barely a glance.

  


Lining up to pay, something on the magazine rack catches Tim’s attention. “You said you didn’t know Nightwing, right?” Conner looks startled and defensive for a moment when he sees the issue of _Masks & Spandex Today_ that Tim was pointing to “What? Why would I know – oh, right. Yeah, I’ve got no idea.” Tim picks up the magazine, jostling his can of _ZestiEnergy_ to an elbow, and flips through for the Blüdhaven article from the blaring yellow type on the cover. He sucks his teeth. “Well, I can’t say I’m a fan of this writer, god, is that a comma splice in the first paragraph? What’s wrong with the editor? Buuut…” He turns the page for Conner to see the slightly grainy action shot of a black and blue suited man in his 20s. “He’s cute, right?” Conner blinks. “So, you’re really into guys, huh?” It’d taken him longer to ask that than Tim had anticipated, four weeks and change. He doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable with it though. “Meh. Sometimes. I mean, I can recognize someone’s attractive and talented and driven without also sucking their dick.”

  


Interestingly enough, there was absolutely no blush here. Maybe Tim’s theory was wrong. Maybe the weird blushes had more to do with Superboy suddenly remembering he’s been chatting with his nemesis or something completely unrelated to their interaction. Maybe he was daydreaming about Victoria’s secret models or something. Tim’s surprised to feel some serious annoyance settling over himself. That can’t be right. Tim spent most of his time at school studying Conner Kent being normal with the normal people. Naturally, he couldn’t know what happened in their separate classes or follow him in the hallways, but across the cafeteria with his friends, jostling alone in the crowd between periods, the blush didn’t make an appearance. Just for Tim. Just for Tim doing or saying completely unremarkable things. Not when Tim talked about sex or any of the other things he’d been putting out there to purposely shock the vigilante. If Tim had been a synapse less skilled at compartmentalization, he would have been pulling his hair out by now.

  


“How long have you been out?” The unexpected question pulls Tim back to the present. “Always. No reason to hide it.” Conner looks strangely serious. “And people are cool about it?” Tim briefly remembers a few incidents from back at Channel Academy, but it doesn’t really count as bullying in his book if the individuals concerned were less threatening than the common cold. “Everyone who matters… Well,” He huffs a little laugh to himself, “Lex isn’t exactly ‘cool’ about it. He’s so supportive that it’s awkward. There’s almost definitely some overcompensation there. As far as problems go though, that’s not a bad one.”

  


Tim dumps his armload on the counter, including the magazine. “Oh my god.” Conner chokes. “You are not actually buying that, are you?” Tim takes Conner’s food out of his hands, placing it on the counter next to his own. “I most certainly am.” He says without a hint of shame. Conner blinks and blushes, for a count of three times in the past half hour. “Hey, wait, you shouldn’t pay for my stuff! I’ve got money.” Tim looks at him, eyes wide, letting a slight note of fear enter his voice, “It’s hazard pay. For crossing Hope – Oh, straws! I almost forgot!” He drops the tone and grabs one for each of them out of the cup on the counter.

  


The grumpy old cashier / self-appointed truant officer sniffs disapprovingly as he scans the magazine. Conner stiffens very slightly, but Tim doesn’t feel the need to brace himself. What could someone he doesn’t care about do to hurt him? Not let him buy donut holes? The man waves the newly purchased magazine at Tim. “This guy’s too old for you, and anyone in this rag is going to get themselves killed. You find a nice boy _your own age_ ,” He gives a bright red Conner a serious look “and if anyone gives you trouble, you come to me.” He puffs out his chest. He’s a pretty big guy. Tim’s actually speechless for a second, but he finds himself smiling. Conner stutters “Uh, t-thank you, sir.” Tim pays and sweeps his arm across the counter haphazardly gathering all their purchases. “Hey!” Conner protests, “Stop doing that!” Tim ignores him and backs into the door to open it “You coming or not?”

  


They sit on the decorative grass stretch between the sidewalk and a swanky office tower. The swankiness is only partially ruined by being directly next to a junk food supplying gas station. Tim’s knee twinges with the atmospheric pressure change of a storm coming in. The fracture had been so long ago, before Lex was around to notice that it hadn’t healed right. When he follows Conner’s gaze to his hand, he’s surprised to find himself pressing his cold can of _ZestiEnergy_ into the complaining joint. He leaves the can there, trying to make the placement look casual as opposed to evoking a traumatic backstory. 

  


Tim pulls the worksheets and one of Conner’s mechanical pencils out of his overstuffed backpack. Math shaped impressions in the card-stock cover of each of the notebooks he’d kidnapped indicate that they were frequently used as writing surfaces. He leans one against his knee and starts to fill in the worksheet answers they hadn’t gotten to earlier. Conner gawks “Dude! What the hell?” Tim scribbles out an incorrect answer like the other boy would instead of erasing it like he himself would. “It’s my fault your homework isn’t ready for tomorrow’s class. If you really want, I’ll teach you to solve this stuff next time we meet. This is just a stop-gap measure so that you don’t get hassled before then.” He draws a four with the top open instead of his normal precisely closed triangle. Conner rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “You mean so that _you_ don’t get hassled.” Tim smiles innocently at him. “Let’s just say our interests align in this matter.” Conner huffs out a breath but isn’t exactly stopping him. He starts to lean in after a few minutes, watching over Tim’s shoulder as he breezes through the work. There were purposeful mistakes and occasionally Tim’s natural writing style makes an appearance, slightly angled to the left as if he’d been sitting to one side of his student making notes. “Do you do this a lot?” Conner asks, not sounding annoyed anymore. Tim vaguely shakes his head. “Well, you’ve really got a system down for it.” Tim shrugs. “Why make it obvious, you know?” Conner makes a distracted humming sound that isn’t quite agreement.

  


“Why haven’t I heard anything about you being,” Conner struggles for a moment “… not straight?” Tim pops a donut hole in his mouth, barely pausing in his counterfeiting. “I just told you. It’s not a secret.” Conner grimaces at himself. “I mean _before_ I met you. Like, you’re kind of famous, but it doesn’t seem like people are waving pitchforks at you or trying to make you a gay icon or… anything.” Well, that was startlingly insightful. There’d always been the teasing thought that Superboy had more going on inside his head than what got out, but Tim still found himself surprised at moments like this. “I’m not famous.” _Way to avoid the question, Tim_. “Lex is famous,” _which means that I’m at least a little famous_ , he chides himself. “Which means your at least a _little_ famous.” Conner says, apparently spotting the same flaw. Tim turns away from the papers, looking askance at his interrogator “This is one of those things you get from living with reporters isn’t it? Communicable curiosity, right along with toxoplasmosis.” Conner shrugs. “Probably.” He slurps his _Soder_ through one of the straws Tim had grabbed. “Do I want to know what toxic plasims are?”

“Do you like cats?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t have it.”

“Well now I definitely need to know what it is, but I’m going to look it up _later_. You don’t get out of answering _now_.”

“…I’m not _purposefully_ keeping the information away from people, but I guess it doesn’t occur to someone reporting on Lex’s charity or his awards for being a genius or whatever that the kid hanging around him might be queer. I’ve never had a boyfriend – I mean, I’ve never had a girlfriend either. I haven’t even kissed anyone. There aren’t a ton of clues for people to latch onto. No scandal.”

“Huh…” Conner thinks for a minute while Tim gets back to the math. “Wait,” he jerks to look at Tim. “Did you just say you’ve never kissed anyone? You’re messing with me, right?” Tim huffs out a sigh. “I’m not messing with you. Dating is… it’s interesting, but it’s not the _most_ interesting thing I want to spend time on.” 

“Dude, how many grades did you skip? Are you like, 10?”

“None. There may have been a chance but I rarely turn in homework.”

“God, this is my _tutor_ talking!”

“Yep.”

  


Conner shifts, watching the graphite scratching on the worksheet page, trying to look casual. He loses the thread of it pretty quickly. “You’ve seriously never kissed anyone?”

“No.”

“Seriously?” 

“ _No_.” Tim knew that most of his peers would do their best to avoid letting out the top level secret that they were not indeed Hugh Hefner. They put up a pretense, but most of them weren’t particularly far into the world of sexuality and they knew it. Was Conner really so ensconced in that pretense that he didn’t see any other possibility? He starts slowly. “People talk about… all that stuff like there’s a time limit, like if you don’t get to it today you never will. It’s like each of us has to prove that we’re valuable and the only _value_ that’s measured is whether or not someone else – who probably doesn’t have their shit together either – wants to fuck.” He takes a drink of his _ZestiEnergy_. “I don’t particularly _care_ if other people think I have that value or if they think I’m a pathetic virgin. If two people decide to fuck, or kiss, or date, that’s between _those_ two people.” 

  


Tim didn’t think he had said anything particularly revolutionary, but Conner seems to have been shocked into speechlessness. He actually looks a little pale. “Wow… Okay. I didn’t mean anything really. I was just… surprised.” Tim looks at him. “You barely react when I talk about sucking a stranger’s dick, but not having had a kiss breaks your worldview. I’d really love to know what your sex talk was like.”Conner winces. “Didn’t have one… It’s weird to me because – I mean, it’s not weird, you can totally do whatever works for you – ” Tim lets him trip over himself for a minute, staring blankly before taking pity on him. “I don’t care if you think it’s weird.” Conner’s humiliated backpedaling halts. “You don’t?”

“No. If you think it’s weird, that’s yours to deal with. It doesn’t effect me. Finish your sentence.” This does not restart the conversation. “You were saying it’s weird to you because…” Tim provides patiently. “Ah, right…” 

  


Conner turned to the street like the traffic was the most interesting thing in the world. He takes a deep breath. “It seems weird to me because I’ve always been a complete slut. Like, after –“ He paused again looking at Tim and then back to the street. “After I left my parents’ I was pretty much constantly with someone and I don’t think any of them would say we were dating or anything. Most times it would just last a few days, or less actually.” He made an uncomfortable face. 

  


Tim’s head is sort of reeling. Is ‘parents’ code for Krypton? Does Superboy have actually living family somewhere on earth other than Superman himself? He knows all of Superboy’s trackable actions and locations since his first public appearance. There had been months between his debut and Superman taking him on as a sidekick. If he’d left his family, if there was no one like Lex for him, that meant he’d been on his own all that time. Had Conner been _homeless_ while Tim had lucked into a penthouse? 

  


Conner is still talking and it isn’t exactly getting happier. “It used to be that someone would let me stay with them for a bit and we’d just end up having sex, or someone would just be nice and I’d figure that’s what they wanted. And I’d do… whatever I thought they wanted.” Conner stops, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t really… That’s just the only way people were around me before Clark and Lois. Or I guess I was that way around them? I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  


Conner yelps when an unknown projectile hits him in the side of the face, raining down white powder. It turns out to have been one of Tim’s donut holes. “Don’t do that!” Tim says in exasperation. “Don’t do what? You’re the one throwing food!” Despite fervent attempts, the powdered sugar is not brushing off of his shirt, but rather seems to be multiplying on each new surface it touches. “Don’t take what _I_ think _I_ want for _me_ and use it as a reason to beat yourself up! Okay, fine, there are completely understandable reasons you may want to slow down on the anonymous sex, but none of them are moral! Whether or not you have sex is completely unrelated to what grade of person you are. You don’t need to apologize to _anyone._ Jesus Conner, it’s pretty obvious you’re smarter than that. Now give me your backpack.” Conner doesn’t move, not even trying to get the dust off his clothes anymore. “Uh… Thank you?” Tim rolls his eyes and reaches behind the confused Conner shaped statue he’d just created to grab the bag. 

  


He considers sticking a bug into the front of the thing. It would easily hide among the silver studs and frayed fabric. The possible losses were too big if it was found though. Doing oppo research in person as Tim the math tutor was much more interesting than combing through files looking for a moment of usefulness among say, the carpet the cam was leaned against for 12 hours. A bug on his backpack wouldn’t be a reliable way to monitor the mystery blush anyway. In the end, he just replaces Conner’s things. Nothing added, nothing taken. He pushes the now full bag back to Conner. Tim leans back on his elbows, stretching out a kink in his back from writing on his lap.

  


“Clark doesn’t know,” Tim tries not to show his surprise. He’d thought the conversation was over. “About… well about a lot of this. I don’t think he knows that I’ve _done_ stuff with guys. I… I don’t know if anyone knows.”

“Oh.” Shit. He’s probably supposed to say something more comforting than that. “I guess I know now.” Tim feels like he doesn’t have enough RAM for this. He had whole internal monologues ready for societies expectations of sex, but he’d never come out to family. By the time there was anything to come out about, his parents weren’t capable of asking. He wishes he had his earpiece with Lex giving him hints on the other end. Then he remembers that this is the one topic where Lex is a complete mess. Conner looks down at Tim and inexplicably, smiles. “Yeah. I guess you do. Hey, can I have a donut hole that hasn’t hit me in the face?”

“What if I need them for tactical reasons?”

“Oh, you better not!” Tim shrugs, which is an awkward thing to do leaning on his elbows. Someone who didn’t do daily stretches with Mercy probably wouldn’t have the ability. He nudges the bag closer to Conner. “Do you want him to know?”

“No.” Conner gazes at his chosen donut hole sadly. “I don’t want to feel like I’m lying to him either though. It’s not exactly the fun kind of secret.” Tim hums an agreement. “I may have been a bad example of this, but you don’t have to come out by talking about sucking dick.” Conner snorts and drops his donut hole. Tim levels him with a glare. “You are a pastry waister and should be ashamed.” Conner takes another one and immediately stuffs it in his mouth to prevent any attempts to take it away. “How about you go home, tell him and Lois ‘I’m queer by the way’ and then steal their donut holes while they’re distracted?” Conner is laughing again, making Tim feel light with success. “Dude, that would not work out. They’re the ones I got the toxic plasm curiosity from, remember? They’re _actual_ reporters.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Questions are inevitable, or the Lex version – which is contorting every conversation to _avoid_ asking questions. You can call me though. If you need a break from it after they know.” What was Tim doing? If this conversation had proved anything it was that he did not have resources for this issue! “There’re extra rooms at Lex’s too. If you need to actually get away for a bit.” Conner looks as startled by this offer as Tim feels. He pulls on a little of his other self to stifle the beginnings of panic in his gut. “You don’t have my phone number do you?” Conner numbly pulls his phone from his pocket and stares at it. “I don’t think so.” Tim holds his hand out with a light beckoning motion. It’s one of the newer WayneTeck models, which makes sense with the company’s namesake having such a soft spot for Conner’s cousin. Maybe the whole family gets them for free. Tim imputes one of his private numbers, the initial ’T’, and for his contact photo he takes an internet browse of 2.5 seconds. He texts himself from the phone and lays it on Conor’s backpack which is still between them.

“You okay to go home?” Conner blinks at the question. “Oh! Yeah, I mean, Clark and Lois are… the biggest danger here is feeling ultra-awkward. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Okay.” Tim nods. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.” A small smile competes for Conner’s face with an astoundingly bright flush. “I will.” Tim would really like to think that look was for him.

  


“It’s getting late. I might as well call Hope so we don’t have to deal with sneaking back _into_ school. How anti-climactic would that be?” He pulls out one of his own phones and starts typing a message. “You need a ride anywhere?” Conner shakes his head. He probably doesn’t want to voluntarily enter Luthor property no matter how much bad coming out advice Tim gives him. Smart. Tim stands, gathering the litter from their snack. Conner holds out the empty donut hole bag for him and tosses it all in the nearby trashcan. A black _Mercedes_ pulls up to the curb. “That was fast.” Conner muses. “We pay for the best.” Tim says imitating a haughty hair flip which makes Conner’s lip twitch. “See you Friday? I’ll make up for today’s shitty tutoring.” Conner snorts. “You better, super-genius.” His smile becomes a little more genuine. “I’ll see you Friday.” Tim slides into the backseat and Conner walks off, away from the school. He doesn’t look annoyed, or self-righteous, or confused or sad. He looks… content. It’s nice to see him that way.

  


Tim realizes with a dizzy feeling in his gut that he hadn’t checked his phones, any of them, the entire time he’d been with Conner. He guiltily scrolls through the past hour of silent alerts on the silver Lphone. No company emergencies, although he might reconsider terminating Schetz. The mat black Android doesn’t have anything new. Heart-rates steady. Reflexes as they had been for the past year and a half. Dr. Wada’s notes throughout the day. He’s running out of synonyms for “no progress”. Tim watches the waves of the different life-sine monitors on the live feed for a moment. 

  


He wonders if they would want to know about Conner. What would he even say if they did though? ‘Superboy thinks I’m his friend’? ‘The kid I’m tutoring at school stuck up for the teacher giving him a failing grade’? ‘Conner’s queer, but he doesn’t have a crush on me’? 

  


The phone screen goes dark with the inactivity. Tim inwardly cringes. No need to state the obvious, and really it was lucky. Romantic feelings could have made the whole situation more difficult, especially considering Tim’s complete lack of emotional attachment. It would be unethical using those particular feelings after what Conner had just told him. The blushes were a series of data points with no causal relation to Tim, and that was for the best. Really. 

  


He leans back watching Metropolis pass by the window. He smiles to himself. At the very least, he’s definitely not bored anymore.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


2:10 AM

Text from Conner: _Dude. Y is ur contact pic a frowning rainbow?_

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

> This may be the longest coherent fic I’ve ever written… Although it’s a bit presumptuous to say it’s coherent when no one other than me has read it yet…
> 
> Oh yeah! In case anyone wants to poly ship Lex / Clark / Lois I fixed the ‘does this count as incest’ issue for when everyone discovers Kon’s second donor. Now instead of ‘dearest boyfriend of mine, I think our dads want to screw each other’ it’s ‘dearest boyfriend of mine, your cousin and my roommate would make a cute couple, right?’
> 
> A wonderful commenter just brought up that Tim's confusion about where Kon comes from sort of becomes reader confusion. Kon is still a clone with Clark and Lex as his donors, but Tim doesn't know he's a clone yet. No one knows about the Lex connection yet.
> 
> Also, I have tumlr. If anyone wants to talk that'd be fun. Do people talk on tumblr? I'm not a good millennial. RaspberryBrain.tumblr.com


End file.
